My platoon: 10 strong, more or less

Everything felt hasty. Yet we were fully equipped. Everyone who enlisted, was accepted. The recruitment officers barely asked any questions, not even in the slightest sense ensuring the newly minted conscripts were doing this for the right reasons. Whatever they might be. I could foresee problems with civilians being utter psychopaths, joining up for the chance to fulfill their darkest fantasies. As long as the recruitment officers thought we could fire a gun in the right direction, it seemed they didn’t care who was brought along to the front.

Training was brief. Nothing like you would expect of it. No time was spent to physical exertion, disciplinary actions, finding your way with a map and compass, team building, practical exercises in tactics at all.

One day was spent on how to fire a gun in the right direction and keeping it clean. The second day consisted of theory in tactical situations: how to clear a building, how to counter a sniper, how to evade a tank, how to lay a trap, how to move in the field and how to attack a fixed position. There simply was not enough time to do practical exercises. Those interested in the finer details were just given a book to read in quiet times. Or to use as extra body armor. To stay remotely sane we were given the advice to talk to each other, or write about your experiences, or find some solace in each other’s arms, if possible at all. To my astonishment a third day was spent in learning how to dig. We were each given a folding shovel. Truly, the appetite of the army to dig holes never ceased to be satisfied. Fox holes, latrine pits, hasty scrapes, trenches, reinforced and camouflaged positions. If you ask me, the most important tool of a soldier is the shovel, not the gun. The last day was spent on medical expertise. After all, a war is about surviving. It would be helpful if the man or woman next to you knows how to apply a tourniquet, stitch a wound, pull a bullet out safely, rather than having to do it yourself. While some of the platoons had a decent medic, a trained nurse or even a physician, not all were so blessed with the duty to protect their most valuable asset of the team.

Platoons were formed in a matter of minutes after the training. Being most versed in tactical theory, being the older recruit, and somewhat calm and caring, I was given the position of platoon leader. The ten platoon leaders were placed on the training square and were asked to select their team, based on their own preferences and knowledge of the other recruits during the training days. The school version of picking teams.

Given my client the express promise I would try to look after her children – every bit of hope helps, I guess - I selected my medic Kate and her younger brother Tom. While she desired that her boyfriend would accompany her, he couldn’t, as he also was a medic. I told her not to worry, as the platoons would be positioned close to each other at the front. The younger brother asked me to select two of his friends, Peter and Jon, from soccer play, which I did. From the inevitable leftovers I selected a young cute woman, named Kylie, with the profession of a kindergarten teacher, a quiet young man, named Dave, from which I hoped he wouldn’t show his fear in combat too soon, Kemal, the pizza deliverer from town, a bit too brash for my comfort, Dieter, another young man I complemented earlier being so good at digging holes. To complete my platoon I selected a guy, named Michael, everyone else suspected of having a learning disorder.

I know, what was I thinking? Selecting a kindergarten teacher. What was she thinking anyway? Hoping the Russians would be like naughty children she could frighten into submission with a stern gaze and a harsh word? Granted, Kylie was cute, but cuteness only goes so far in my current priorities of keeping the band together and surviving this mess preferably in one piece.

My medic Kate was a beauty too, but sadly I noticed her being very insecure in performing. Keeping my promise would be difficult if she couldn’t hack it. At least her brother Tom proved to be a good shot and was given an extra sniper rifle. Not that I counted of him being very effective at first, but at least he would have enough practice.

His friends Peter and Jon were enthusiastic, but I doubt much of that would be left after the first pickle. They were athletic types, just as Tom, but a bit naive in my opinion.

Kemal, the pizza deliverer seemed sound of mind, but I spotted him leering every chance he got at the women in my platoon. Don’t get me wrong, I caught myself doing the same once or twice. I just hoped it wouldn’t come to trouble, him being so brash in his manners.

Dave was a bookkeeper, who kept himself fit by running on his own after his work. He barely said anything and seemed unphased at the training and coming events. I hoped he was stoic because of his nature and not because he was afraid and didn’t know how to express his feelings. Let’s hope he is not a ticking timebomb to go off at the most inconvenient time.

Dieter looked a man a bit slow in his thinking, but a good man to have when it comes to digging. Big, strong and kind. Just the man I preferred. But oh so ugly. With a heavily pockmarked face it hurt my eyes every time I had to look at him. Probably it will take some time getting used to it.

Dieter may be somewhat slow in his thinking, but that is nothing compared to Michael. He failed at how to clean a gun, not even mentioning his understanding of tactical situations. I had **** but to select him as he was the last in the selection pool. Simple tasks he would do exemplary, but anything beyond that I could trust he would fuck up. Why they didn’t select him for just delivering stuff to the front is beyond me. Probably would get lost on the way.